


Distraction

by narsus



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q hates driving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Skyfall belongs to Eon Productions, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and others. Based on James Bond by Ian Fleming.

Q hates driving. It’s why he took a position in London rather than Porton Down. He _can_ drive of course. He’s even done the standard defensive driving course that anyone who might just, at a long shot, end up in the field is required to take. He might even, if he allows himself to remember it, have actually been good at it. Not that he’d attribute that to skill on his part: it’s rather difficult for any other kind of vehicle to drive an armoured Land Rover off a road. Not that the vehicle itself would make any difference. He simply can’t stand driving. The constant spatial awareness required does terrible things to his stomach. The last time he’d been behind the wheel he’d clutched at it in a death-grip to stop his hands shaking.

Regular, mild weather days are bad enough, but right now the rain is lashing down and the trees that fly by seem to be buffeted by gale force winds. Q shivers. He can barely see out of the windscreen even with the wipers whipping back and forth franticly. All around him elemental chaos reigns.

“Did you want to listen to Radio Four? There should be a program about the financial markets starting shortly.”

James’ voice is utterly calm. He sits, straight backed, in the driving seat, gloved hands seemingly just resting on the steering wheel, eyes on the road. A picture of serenity.

“What makes you think I listen to Radio Four?”  
“I do.”  
“Oh. Really, James, _Radio Four_?”  
“It find it quite soothing.”  
“You’ll be recommending classical music next.”  
“Classic FM was going to be my next suggestion.”  
Q snorts. “Educational programming and classical music. Could you be any more Oxbridge?”  
“And you aren’t?”

Q doesn’t respond. Of course they both are. That’s the way the service works. One needs to appear bright, educated and wealthy. A suitably patriotic, military or diplomatic, career background is merely an added bonus. He doesn’t follow that train of thought further, distracted again by the rain lashing down against the windows and the wavering of the vehicle in front of them. Their car doesn’t seem to be effected by the winds at least and James doesn’t seem to be exerting all that much effort to keep them steady when Q glances sideways.

“What about cloud computing?” James captures Q’s attention again.  
“What about it?”  
“Will that be secure enough for us in the future?”  
“If we own the servers.”  
“Is that all there is to it? I’m never quite sure that I’m understanding it correctly.”

One, long-winded, hour long explanation later, it finally occurs to Q, as they pull off the motorway and onto a less windswept slip road, what James is doing. As they join the dual-carriageway Q considers that implications of that silently. He’s still pondering when they finally turn into a familiar, and deserted, street. James flexes his fingers above the steering wheel, thumbs still hooked in place, palms still pressed against the wheel. There are several things Q could say to that. He could point out that James makes this kind of hazardous driving look easy. He could ask how tightly the other man had been gripping to wheel to keep them steady. He could even thank him for the distraction. Instead he leans back against the seat and closes his eyes as they come to a stop.

“I love you.” It comes out casually, as if he’s simply commenting on the time of day.

Silence greets his statement and Q opens his eyes curiously. A small smile lights James’ face, a private one, that has nothing to do with work or success. There’s no further conversation as they get out of the car and hurry through the rain to get into Q’s flat. Which is, in Q’s estimation, as it should be. James has been telling Q that he loves him for three months now. The first time that Q’s said it back shouldn’t be particularly momentous.


End file.
